


surprise, surprise, who's got the time

by scottmczall



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Near Future, Recreational Drug Use, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmczall/pseuds/scottmczall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott does his best not to be blindsided by life anymore, knowing full well how consequences may play out unexpectedly inside their usual premises, but when Stiles flashes him a smile and tells them they're going to Vegas, throwing him into a birthday trip to the promises of surprises, the situation is mostly out of his hands. The first revelation is their room. The second's completion itself. The third, apparently, isn't exactly part of anyone's plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Additional information: Allison/Kira/Malia, Braeden/Derek/Marin, Boyd/Erica/Isaac are pairings really slightly implied, barely there information! 
> 
> Art by: [lthewildestcucumber](http://thewildestcucumber.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (This is my first bang ever and I'm hella nervous i'm gonna fuck something up, so lets go!)

_ _

 

_Beginning_

"Scotty, we're going to Vegas!" Stiles yelled from inside his house, struggling with two black travel bags and the beer hat ( _beer hat?_ ) sliding down his forehead and eyes. He was smiling, though, and Scott could hear his excitement through the frantic pumping of his heart.

That's when he should've known he was in trouble.

 

 

Scott will have to admit that turning twenty one, for a second there, seemed at least a little bit out of reach, like a hazy dream—a distant mirage, if you will—but here he is, in Las Vegas, as twenty one year old werewolf. He can't stop himself from wondering if Derek's ever been to Vegas, as a twenty something year old werewolf himself, but then Stiles is hauling him into the depths of their hotel, and he's not that curious at all anymore.

"Dude, fucking look at this place! Can you imagine what a blackout would do here? Jesus!" The awe pouring through Stiles' voice is almost palpable as he looks up and around with his mouth hanging open. Scott has to agree with him, having had trouble averting his eyes from everything, because it's all so tall and bright, possibly emphasized by the contrast provided by the pitch blackness of a nightsky. They couldn't be more painfully touristy if they tried.

Scott smiles, curling his toes in absolute thrill, but what he manages to say is, "Why would I imagine that?"

There’s a pause, "I don't know, my head's still working on Beacon Hills, chaos and strife." He shrugs then launches an arm around Scott's shoulders. "Just give it time."

"You have a weekend, man," Scott flashes him an easy smile, enjoying the weight of Stiles' arm around him, and keeps up with his friend's pace.

They head for the elevators, and Scott tries not to think about the amount of numbers on the mechanic board, thanking the heavens theirs is the tenth floor instead of the fiftieth, although he does vow to visit it later, when they’re done settling in. Stiles seems to have the same idea at pretty much the same time, because he whispers something about insanity and bungee jumping while actually pressing the button, and smirks. Scott pulls him out when they reach their floor before Stiles can do anything about it.

The hallway isn’t much like what he’s seen so far—it is quiet. The carpet is gold and red, same as everything else, though, the yellow lighting brightening the way on its own, since and he can’t seem to spot any windows.

“This place is dope.” Stiles marvels, pulling on his backpack’s strap. “Listen, Scotty, before we go into our room, I just want you to know that there’s another surprise for you, which arrives tomorrow, by the way, so don’t get too anxious on me right away, alright?” He winks at Scott, patting his friend’s shoulder. “Also, this is a weekend for getting wild, so don’t hold back. I know there’s a party beast inside of you somewhere, so, just let it out, ok? No one for you to take care of here.”

Scott blinks amusedly, and part of him wants to disagree, because _of course_ there’s someone for him to take care of, but Stiles has been obsessing about getting stronger and learning how to not be defenseless (or at least how not to get his ass gratuitously kicked on a semi regular basis), and Scott doesn’t want to undermine that—mainly because Stiles has a speech for when that actually happens—a very long, sufferable speech—but also because he respects it. Scott could kiss him for everything he’s just said, actually; _would_ , if they weren’t best friends, if they weren’t on their own.

“I’ll try that. I promise.” He replies promptly, emerging out of his thoughts, dying to dive into a bed and rest for ten hours straight. His muscles feel stretched and worn, molded in all the wrong ways—ways only a five hour drive sitting in Stiles' Jeep can twist them into. “One thousand and thirteen. Go ahead.” Scott nods, encouraging Stiles, who’s holding the keycard loosely on his hand.

Stiles rolls his eyes, heading for the door. “Wanna get me in bed so soon?” He snarks.

“I was thinking about me on the bed, actually,” Scott confesses, his knees almost singing in relief just as Stiles opens the door, “I don’t mind where you’re going.” He laughs, letting his backpack slide down his arm.

Scott’s first concern is ‘where are the beds?’, which is a thought that comes a fraction of second before he realizes this place is actually a living room, two small couches, a table and a counter—because of course there’s—a resemblance of—a kitchen right there too.

“Hah! Asshole.” Stiles retorts dryly. “You’re not a very funny wolf.”

Scott doesn’t have the drive to keep up the sarcasm, eyes widening as they walk further in, “Stiles, what the hell is all this?”

His first approach is to ignore the question, and Scott can see it blatantly in the way Stiles’ features blank out, how he cracks his neck in feign nonchalance—which is why Scott pulls on his friend’s arm, demanding an explanation.

Stiles ignores him for a second before his shoulders slump in defeat, face following suit, “Okay, fine, fine—maybe I’m not the only one who chimed in to get you a perfect birthday gift.” He confesses half reluctantly. “Maybe you have better friends than you think you do. Maybe Lydia and Derek are a lot more loaded than we initially thought.” The boy shrugs, smirking again.

“What?” Scott frowns. “Where are they?” He looks around the room expectantly, heart suddenly hammering his ribcage—Stiles _did_ say he had a surprise prepared.

Stiles grimaces this time, and maybe pouts a little bit, “They couldn’t make it, actually, but they really wanted you to have the time of your life. Kira and Malia are still visiting Allison in France, and Derek, Braeden and Marin are in South America again.”

“Oh.” Scott sighs shallowly after a beat, more than a little disappointed. He misses his friends—his pack—and to see some of them after their few weeks of school break, which they've spent completely scattered, would’ve been nice. “What about the rest of them? Lydia? Isaac, Boyd and Erica?”

“What is this? The Inquisition?” Stiles groans. “I don’t know, Scott, I’m not keeping track of the moneymakers I’m just making good use of their money, alright?”

"Isaac pitched in?" Scott's mouth went agape with the thought of Isaac, a struggling college student, giving away money for a trip to Vegas he didn't even get to go to. That's just _unfair_.

Stiles rolls his eyes, "He's broke as hell, but he tried. Derek didn't let him, though, he paid for them both." He explains. "And maybe a small country, too—he's _obnoxiously_ rich. I bet you could hit him up for some of that if you showed him your goods." He wiggles his brows, hands on his hips.

Scott shakes his head lightly, hitting Stiles' shoulder dismissively, "You're disgusting."

"I have priorities, Scotty, s'all."

"Whatever you say." He beams, "I'm gonna go to sleep. If you happen to sell your goods for money in the meanwhile, please be responsible about it." Scott crosses the room, heading for the next door, and prepares himself for whatever he's about to see.

"I'd absolutely sell the usage of my goods, but I don't think you can afford this." Stiles retorts as Scott slides the door open.

Scott doesn't even wanna think about what Stiles just said, and, quite frankly, it's hard to when he finds himself facing a room with _three_ queen sized beds. "Stiles, why is there an extra bed?"

 

_Missing Piece_

 

Ultimately, Stiles doesn't give Scott an answer. He babbles, sure, talks about tyranny, privacy, then the inquisition again, but never answers the question itself. Which is why Scott crashes so quickly, both trying to actually rest and escape Stiles' neverending stream of absolute bullshit.

He's not sure for how long he's out, but his body aches from head to toe when he's finally awake, eyes closed, and grimace slipping into this face. The aching usually means too many hours, something around ten to twelve. Stiles is positively going to remind him of 'that time you wasted twelve hours in Vegas sleeping', in a near future.

Surprisingly enough, though, he doesn't wake up to Stiles' whining at all, nor the musky scent directly tied to the Beacon Hills' forests, the tender smell that feels like childhood and reminds him of scraped knees and loose band aids—instead it's this sweet strawberry frapuccino smell, and expensive perfume, something french and obnoxious. It floods Scott entirely, changing up his awakening mood to excited and loving. He knows this scent—he _knows_ it.

"Lydia?" Scott's eyes shoot open, and surely there's a curtain of golden red hair cascading down the banshee's back, swaying hypnotically when she turns to face him, gracing him with an easy smile that carves dimples deep into her cheeks. She's got that fierce, confident look and lips coated in pink lipgloss, making something boil inside of him. Scott could just break in two right now, melt slowly, or anything that would convey the utter happiness trailing down his spine mercilessly.

"The one and only." She smirks, walking towards him. "Good morning, Scott," Lydia sits down on the bed after sliding his covers out of the way, "Stiles wanted to come wake you up, but I sent him on a coffee run. You need to get as much sleep as you can—he's got too many ideas, we're gonna need rest."

"You let Stiles get coffee?" Scott rasps out, his voice failing him miserably. His lips twist in regret. This isn't what he meant his first words to be. They haven't properly talked to each other in three long weeks.

Lydia snorts, shooting him s look, "No, I let Stiles get _juice_ and bring us coffee. Who do you think I am?"

The wolf smiles, feeling an unstoppable wave of fondness race through him, "I missed you." He blurts out nonsensically, smiling despite it, and lunges for a hug. _God_ , he did miss her, in more ways that he should have, but did regardless. His arms don't tighten around her, but Lydia goes for it a lot more lively than he expects, pulling him into a rare, warm embrace.

She presses her lips on his shoulder, breathing him in just as he does her, and slides closer, pressing their upper bodies together like she needs to show him some kind of fullness. Like she's searching for it herself. Lydia sighs, after a while, retreating, but only enough to look at him again, "I missed you too." She says seriously, their eyes locked together, but the moment's broken before Scott can make anything out of it, "And you've gotten broader in my absence, I see." The girl muses, hands sliding from his back and at his shoulders, squeezing unashamedly.

Scott laughs lightheartedly, closing his eyes, "Not much to do in town when your whole pack has gone out of town for summer break."  

Lydia narrows her eyes at him. "So you hit the gym when you're lonely? That's so jock of you, Scott McCall. Millions of outcasts cry at their loss." She snarks, smiling deviously, "How did Stiles take it? I'm assuming that worked as a way of isolating him—I mean, I can't even imagine him lifting anything other than a remote control… weights just sound silly."

Scott shakes his head lightly, laughing open and wide, "He made a schedule just to be sure I wasn't abandoning him." He reminisces. "It worked pretty well." 

"Mm, sounds like you two." She nods absently, "I brought the requested package, by the way. None of the security at the airport even looked at me, so I'll have to handle Stiles being absolutely insufferable for being right for the next few days, but..." She trails off, getting up slowly.

The frown slipping into Scott's expression isn't something he can help when Lydia leans down next to her luggage, opening one of her bags and pulling a package out of it. "What? What is that—what did Stiles want?"

Lydia straightens up while opening the brown container and pulls two transparent bags out of it, shaking them demonstratively, "Fun." She shrugs mischievously, eyeing him in the most sinful manner. She's got that about her looks. "Well, extra fun… heightened fun." Lydia arches an eyebrow up at him suggestively and Scott's eyes flash red instinctively.

One of the bags content glows light pink, the aura waving off weakly, barely there, "Is that… Are those—are those drugs?" Scott almost gasps, "Did you bring drugs with you?"

"Don't give me that look! I gave you drugs before I even knew you, remember?" She throws him the bags, going back to her spot, "I don't mind a little danger at the airport, you know? Too much privilege shielding me, anyways." She waves his worry off, "Plus, I think we need it," The girl reasons, "Well, _I_ need it. I'm sure you and Stiles have been enduring your stressful semesters with the available help, since Deaton only rolled his eyes at me when I asked him for those." Lydia glares this time, and Scott huffs out a laugh.

The wolf nods helplessly, "He's resourceful."

"And you're into it." She completes for him, "I don't blame you. My shoulders have been killing me since the second semester. I don't think they've ever not been stiff, but this is a new level and it isn't the least bit appreciated." Lydia pouts sourly, and the Alpha inside of Scott rises above almost instantly, finding the same discontentment Lydia does. Scott's gotten used to the need to fix them all, snap them back into a comfortable place, and specially how it isn't always up to him.

Some things, though—these things—he can soothe.

Scott slides closer like she did before, touching her hand with his before dragging it up to her elbows hesitantly, "Can I…?" He checks in, just to make sure, even though her eyes don't convey anything negative about the way his fingers keep trailing up. Lydia nods silently, eyes starting to droop, and Scott smiles at how easily she slips into it. "Turn for me?"

Lydia obeys immediately—turning mostly only her hips, since her legs are already out of the bed, facing forward—and the palpable feeling of their unusual Alpha and Beta bond being reinforced rumbles through Scott's nerves, appeasing them. She pulls her hair out of the way when in position and lets her head tip forward. Scott's fingers sink into her skin softly, working the knots on her muscles loose and gone, draining the pain away as he does. Lydia's breath hitches only slightly before she sighs contentedly, a small sound escaping her lips.

Scott keeps at it, enjoying the noises escaping her, and feels almost guilty for it, but it all seems right when she reaches back, touching his knee, "Does Stiles get these often?" Lydia asks lowly, voice almost dragging, and Scott freezes.

The banshee's head turns as she awaits the reply.

"I—yeah, I mean, we're together a lot, he doesn't—" He's interrupted by the door opening in the other room, the sound of Stiles' steps following—shattering the moment.

“I thought I’d find a cool coffee house, but I guess you and Scotty are just gonna have to settle for shitty Starbucks coffee.” Stiles yells from the living room, the sound of his struggle with whatever he’s carrying resonating through the room. “Is he aw—Scott are you awake?”

“M’awake.” Scott calls back, hands falling away from Lydia's shoulders.

Stiles rushes into the room, hands full of paper bags and cups, “Well, fucking finally! I didn’t bring you here to sleep.” He admonishes, giving Scott a cup, “Most importantly, I didn’t blackmail Lydia into coming so you could sleep.”

Scott shoots Lydia a half worried look, and she's already back into her pose, "Stiles, you couldn't blackmail me if you caught me naked killing a man." She retorts.  

"So, so many dirty jokes and pick-up lines." He closes his eyes, breathing in sorrowfully.

Lydia pats his thigh twice, "If you appreciate being alive, you'll swallow them now."

"I think he's already doing it." Scott chimes in, watching Stiles' wince. "He's gonna run through them first, though."  He knows he will, has a few memories of a much younger Stiles reciting comebacks and lines too long after they were any use.

“Ok, I’m good.” Stiles snaps his eyes open. “I think you would’ve liked them, Lyds. A lot of classy material.”

“With her naked killing a man?” Scott’s head tips to the side as he and Lydia exchange a skeptical look.

“I think you give yourself a lot more credit than you’re due.” She bites and Stiles makes a face at her.

He crosses his arms, "Did you bring the goods or did you come here exclusively to demean me?” Stiles demands impatiently. Scott turns, taking the two bags again and displaying them.

“I came here for Scott, _with_ the goods, _and_ to demean you.” Lydia counts happily, falling back and leaning on her elbows. “You should know I’m a woman of many talents by now."

Stiles smiles, taking the bags from Scott’s hands and hissing a long _‘yessssss’_ before turning his attention to Lydia again, “I could have forgotten. Why don’t you remind me?” When Stiles passes her the bags it feels like a challenge.

 

*

 

There’s not a worry in this world when his head’s travelling too far away for him to reach. Not for him and not for anyone. Everything is good, and Scott’s absolutely high out of this world. He doesn’t know why he can’t feel his face, or why opening his eyes is suddenly just that much harder—doesn’t know what the laughter bubbling out of him is about, either, but it’s all there, and he enjoys it fully, letting his mind float about without that usual scratch of responsibilities tugging his strings.  

Somewhere in the back of his musings, he can hear Stiles’ voice.

“Should we be better at this? Like, should we be getting high inside a hotel room? Also, I think I can hear you guys’ heartbeats. For sure. Absolutely, I can.” He spills mindlessly, his and Lydia's joint hanging loosely from in between his fingers.   

Scott’s got one of his own, and now that the herb is lit, its aura is bright pink, alive and pulsing. “No you can’t.” He chuckles, dipping his fingers into Lydia’s hair. They’re sat on the living room’s floor, windows wide open, his and Stiles’ shoulders slotted together, and Lydia’s sat in between Scott’s legs, idly playing with Stiles’ fingers. Scott feels full, like his chest is about to burst, pulling air in, in, in and then out, like the element is, suddenly, satisfaction.

“I think I can hear your stupid.” Lydia mimics Stiles’ voice, giggling right after, taking them all with her, “This is way stronger than I anticipated.” She confesses, sliding to the side and looking up at Scott, then Stiles.

“You’ve probably been getting the light stuff.” Scott suggests, kissing her forehead just because it is at lips reach and because he _can_. Lydia lets him. He could slide his lips down if he wanted to, too. He suspects that she’d let him again.

(He wants to, though. He really does.)

Stiles nods beside him, going for Lydia’s cheek instead of forehead, and backs up, “Yeah, what’s your dealer’s name? We’re gonna kick his cheap ass.”

Lydia rolls her eyes, the saggy smile still in place, “I don’t have a dealer. My dealer is no one. I drink whiskey on weekends and eat popcorn out of a red bowl.” She confides, then throws them and adamant look, “If you tell anyone, I’m killing you both.” She drawls out as threateningly as high-as-a-kite-Lydia possibly could, and steals the blunt from in between Stiles’ fingers, taking a long drag.

“I thought you went out on weekends.” Scott’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, all of the mental images of Lydia in tight dresses and bright lipsticks surfacing only to fade away, and Stiles mirrors him.

She licks the dryness away from her lips, slightly hesitant before replying, “Not a big fan of parties anymore. Not without at least one of you, anyways.” She confesses. “I’ve studied the campus more times than I could care to count, and, statistically speaking, the chances of something actually happening during a college party up there is slim, but… There’s only so much numbers can do for me now.” Lydia shrugs, squeezing Stiles’ hand when Scott’s arms slip around her waist, holding her tight.

“I don’t think I could do it without Scott.” Stiles huffs out hazily, voice distant and scratchy. “M'not sure I can do much of anything anymore now—I’ve googled codependency an alarming amount of times, and it doesn’t fit right but—“

“There's something.” Scott completes, nodding, because there _is_ , and he can’t explain the necessity—doesn’t have to—but there’s something about it that feels like it’s tied to the very act of breathing, or the pulsing of his heart. Something vital.

“Something.” Lydia snorts, eyes fluttering close. “Aren't we all something.”

“We've all been, at least.” Stiles sniffs, a bitter little smile appearing on his lips. Scott supposes some wounds never truly heal. He should know about wounds and their consequences, how everlasting they can be.

Scott lets his head fall to the side, resting on Stiles’ shoulder. “We're alive, though.” He reminds them, and it may be silly, but it’s good to hear it, to say it out loud. To know it’s true.

“Fuck yeah.” The human chuckles, nuzzling his nose against the wolf’s hair, “And we have plans!” He says, a little louder. “We shouldn’t have been getting baked in the room. We need to go out there and see shit, you know?”

“We need to do whatever Scott wants to do. It’s his birthday weekend.”  

Scott laughs, truly appreciating her reminder, “I actually think we should go out. I mean, we’re here, we have to get to know the place.”

Stiles smirks victoriously, and Scott doesn't have the energy nor the patience to call him own on his smugness, but Lydia manages to keep the last between the two, "Fine, but I don't wanna hear any complaining about how long I'm gonna take with my hair after you ruined it." She sneers.

Scott’s eyes close peacefully, the lazy smile permanently glued on his lips. “Stiles?” He calls, and doesn’t have to look to know Stiles is paying attention, “This was a really nice surprise.”

 

*

 

They take entirely too much, seriously unnecessary, time to actually leave the room, even though Scott decides on he wanting to visit whatever casino outside of their hotel as quickly as possible.

When they finally venture out—after Stiles forgetting the keycard inside and having to call for help down at the lobby, and, both simultaneous and consequently, Lydia's rant on how he should've listened to her and not left the door open as a way of trying to hurry her out, thus leaving said keycard on the table—the wolf's awash with familiarity, even though his surroundings are nothing if not strange, exaggerated buildings, and a disconcerting lack of nature.

It's only halfway through their taxi ride that Stiles decides to tell them they're headed for the Four Queens casino, and starts spilling a whole lot of internet-acquired touristic knowledge with the property of a Grade A guide, getting too many eye rolls and a few—Lydia's—sharp snap backs.

("—the Four Queens is actually more traditional than the Bellagio, alright? It was open, like, in sixty six and your teenager resort is a nineties kid."

"I guess the nineties did spawn incorrigible mistakes, didn't it?")

They don't travel for too long, but it's enough that all the three of them get into five different discussions, and piss off the driver so much he shoos them out of the car with an angry foreign—one can only assume—curse.

"I told you you shouldn't have brought up the Halftime Show, man. Everyone gets riled up about the best performance debate." Scott sighs as the cab drives off.

Stiles sighs impatiently, "Well, they shouldn't! Obviousl—"

"Lets not do this again." Lydia says just above his tone, throwing them both a scolding look just before signalling toward the other side of the street, where the Four Queens building's lit up, the name shining with countless yellow light bulbs burning bright in its shape. There's a heavy flow of people going in and out of it, the city's sound somehow muffled and yet louder. "Well… Is no one gonna gasp?" Lydia quirks an eyebrow up jokingly, striding confidently towards the hotel.

Scott doesn't wanna say his first impression of an actual casino is that it is _really fucking loud_ , but… well. It's also claustrophobic, with machines and tables slotted together, groups of people starting just as another ends, and too many things attempting to occupy the same space. _Three people are a crowd in here_.

There’s something about it, a heavy air that whispers something to him he can’t quite catch, something that nibbles at his senses in a non-threatening way, but that is still there. It should be a nightmare, a werewolf repellant, if anything, but the thrill running through his veins like electricity would beg to differ.

Stiles goes another way just as they enter, muttering something about chips and nodding to himself before taking off to the left, threading through people. Scott inevitably keeps an ear out for his heartbeat, just to make sure, and splays his hand down Lydia's back. "This place is insane." He whispers, not much to her, but she still nods.

"It's supposed to keep you out of the loop, playing for more hours than you initially intent to." She shifts closer to him, letting a family go by beside her, "It's a lot like malls, really..." She muses, "Well, with a lot more alcohol, monetary exchange, and probably some underground illegal activity, but I'm sure someone, somewhere, is doing malls like that anyways."

Scott snorts, shaking his head lightly, "It's like a more coherent Stiles babbling."

Lydia gasps, slapping him playfully across the arm, "Don't you even joke about that, McCall. I'm dead serious." She frowns, a smirk appearing on her lips. "As I always am."

"I didn't mean it in a bad way." He shrugs, still smiling.

"Uh huh. Save your innocent boy act for someone who buys into it."  

He can't help the way he inches closer, looking into her eyes like they're calling for him, "You mean everyone else?"

Lydia's eyes narrow as she wets her lips, but she never moves an inch away from him—maybe she gets even closer, but Scott wouldn't bet his life on it. Lydia hums in agreement, eyes dropping to his lips, and the Alpha can't help but follow suit, even if he's mostly wondering about what he'd do ultimately, hadn't Stiles start coming their way.

He smiles almost politely before pulling away, trying to make sure Lydia's not anything other than perfectly calm before staring at the spot Stiles is supposed to be in the crowd.

The boy surfaces with three bags on his hands, bumping into more people than he probably had to. "Guess who's got money?" Stiles practically whistles with excitement,  " _I_ do." He cheers happily when he finally reaches them, shaking the chips in excitement. "I mean, _we_ got it, but I will say that I've been doing some research and I'm pretty fucking good with the cards." Stiles gloats, pulling on his shirt proudly.

"I'm pretty sure I saw you googling how to count cards, and I don't wanna be banned." Scott chimes in, taking the bags from him. "You know I love you, dude, but I'm not letting you play with more than a hundred."

Stiles' mouth hangs open, his brows knitting together, "I—wha— _Scotty!_ It's Vegas! What am I supposed to do with a hundred bucks? How am I gonna entertain you with a hundred bucks?"

"You're not the entertainment, Stiles. The _machines_ are." Lydia rolls her eyes at him, pulling him away from Scott by the arm. "Now, be a nice friend and stop fucking whining."

Stiles opens his mouth again, but Lydia's glare upon him intensifies, her weight starting to be carried just by the balls of her feet, and it's funny to see her overshadow Stiles even though he's so obviously taller, "Fine!" Stiles hisses bitterly, "But I'm not gonna be any fun."

"Surprise, surprise." Lydia deadpans.

"Stop it, you two. Let’s just go for the ones that make noises first, then we can go play at the tables, alright?” Scott suggests, “Stiles, I bet Lydia will blow your dice for good luck.”

Stiles straightens up, throwing Lydia a gloomy look, “Will you?” He asks, fighting the smart smile trying to flourish on his lips.

“Play your cards right and that might not be all you get.” She smirks deviously, watching attentively as both Stiles and Scott choke on their words, pulling away in the slightest, “Maybe I’ll consider listening to you when you talk.”

“Jesus Christ! That’s it!” Stiles states dramatically, "Until the end of the night you better tell me you love me or I’m through with this friendship!”

“Oh, stop being such a big baby.” Lydia dismisses him, taking both boys by the hand. “Let's go make some money.”

They go. And Scott wishes he could kiss them.

 

*

 

Scott finds that he likes the coins. He likes the machines with the transparent glasses and coins falling in cascades, plus the resonating clash of metal against metal, and how they fall into his bucket when he happens to win—really insignificant amounts he doesn’t take too long before losing again.

What’s even nicer than that is having Lydia and Stiles competing with each other like cat and dog, the gleam of competitive edge flickering in their eyes like they feed off of this. Scott would absolutely join them in it, but there’s something about the place that doesn’t let him immerse completely, like a voice in the back of his head telling him something. (He doesn’t dare mentioning that to either of them. This ability isn’t his to claim.)

Still, even as the coins click together, the sound echoing and soothing the heavy aura the place’s got, it feels too consistent, too imposing to be ignored. He shuffles through the machines, passes through people hoping not to stare for longer than he means to, but it isn’t until someone taps on his shoulder that the air becomes clean again.

“Looking for something?” The woman strokes his flesh, just above his clavicle. It's lulling, the kind of touch that doesn't startle, even though it is invasive in more ways than Scott recollects right now. She retrieves her hand, and he swears even the darker shade of her skin reddens past her knuckles, “Oh, you’re a powerful one, aren’t you?”

Scott blinks once and again, like he's trying to bat away a fogginess that isn't really there. “Who are you?” He takes a step back, bracing himself, and holds back a sigh. He really doesn’t wanna do this right now, around so many people. He needs to lure her out, in the back, then—

“Hey! Not hostile, alright?” She snaps her fingers in front of him, one hand on her waist. Her garnets clash like the coins, bringing him back, “What are you even doing in these parts?”

Scott narrows his eyes at her, inhaling sharply to get a scent, but… nothing. “Who are you?” He tries again, voice rumbling firmer through and out of him.

“My name is Nyota, and I’m a witch.” She answers simply— _tightly_ —looking him dead in the eyes, and takes a step closer. “What are you doing in these parts?” Nyota's free hand descends to her waist as well, and there's a nice symmetry there, as her head tilts, foot tapping on the carpet as she waits on her answer.

Scott shakes his head lightly, lips pressed together in a thin line, “Birthday… things.”

She shoots him an analytical look, eyes narrowed only slightly, suddenly seeming a lot more concerned than Scott does. “Huh. Not many weres coming here for a long, long time, Scott.” She says conversationally, “It is Scott, right?”

The wolf blinks, unimpressed out of sheer tiredness. He doesn’t know why everyone seems to know his name, but after years and years the trick is starting to get old. “How’d you know?”

“Been watching you and your two…” Nyota turns back slightly, waving at Lydia and Stiles’ vicinity, “ _Whatevers_ since you got here.” The witch shrugs. She eyes Scott again like she’s patiently waiting for the question about to roll off of his tongue.

Scott can’t help but indulge her, “You’re the one doing this, aren’t you?”

“Technical problems, sweetheart. I’m working on it.” She waves him off on cue, turning away and walking off. “You came here at a complicated time, Scotty boy. Things feel like they’re finally awakening after a lot of years,” Nyota shares gloomily, a mess of dark curls bouncing as she moves forward. “I’m not sure how that’s about to go down.”

He follows after her, knitting through people a lot less gracefully than she does, doing his best not to bump and kick everyone who crosses him, “What does that _mean?_ What’s happening?”

“A series of astrological events that have no business coming together… _and yet!_ ” She sneers loudly, slowing down her pace, “And now you." Nyota's look almost burns this time, "I can tell you’re a were, but there’s something else, isn’t there? I wouldn’t know, really, I’ve been out of the fishnet for a while now, but I’m sure you wouldn’t go unnoticed—not with this obnoxious amount of power oozing out of you.”

Scott's mouth gapes open as he finds himself not entirely sure of how to take what she’s just said. The attempt of a retaliation rushes out of him in a poor stutter, “I’m—”

“Scott!” Stiles calls behind him, running to his encounter with Lydia on his six. They both have their worried creases on, the popping little veins prominent. And this is not how Scott planned for this night to go, “Scott, what the hell?!” He pokes Scott's shoulder. "Dude, you can't just disappear on us like that."

Scott trades a look from his friends and to the witch, pursing his lips as the explanations pack his head in endless possibilities, "Something felt… weird." He says, like it's all, even shrugging a bit. Lydia throws him a hard look, and it flickers at Nyota's direction. "Oh, uhm… this is Nyota."

"And who might she be?" The banshee smiles tight, tilting her head in feigned interest.

Nyota smiles sharply, and Scott swears the smell of roses rushes out of her, "A witch." She replies without a beat, the heaviness of certainty deep in her voice, "You're either a banshee or a hell of a survivor—maybe both."

Stiles' eyes narrow as he bounces on the balls of his feet, arms crossed loosely together, "Alright…. That's a little creepy."  

The witch snickers, "Death doesn't linger where it doesn't belong." With the wavering of her hand she dismisses him onto what Scott can only assume are more important things.

Lydia swallows hard beside them, gaze lowering for a second. The surge of protectiveness bites down on him again, and his nerves come alight. Stiles catches Lydia's hand, thumb running smoothly through her knuckles, as reassuringly as he can muster, and it puts Scott at ease as well, the beating of his heart coming down as Lydia's does.

Nyota addresses Scott again before he can jump in on the moment, "Your pack is diverse, I see. Now I'm actually offended I've never heard of you before. Even under my rock I should've gotten word of this, really."

"We do our best to go unnoticed." The Alpha retorts stiffly, jumping on an attempt to draw them back to the matter at hand, "Are you gonna explain what's going on?"

Nyota rolls her eyes, sighing, "It's all business, business with you magical creatures, isn't it?" She laments, "Well, time slows down here in the city of lights, Scott. Not many catch the pace—a lot of people worked _hard_ to make sure that would remain the case for a while—but… Things have been fastening over the past few days."

Stiles groans, "Are you kidding me? Seriously? This had to happen now?" His lips part in exasperation.

"I'm sorry the universe swayed out of your way, little boy." The witch retorts amusedly.

Scott ignores them, far too worried to listen to irrelevant exchanges, "What's so bad about that? And how do we fix it?"

Lydia jumps to an answer before Nyota does, though, her hand flying to Scott's wrist, "Maybe we shouldn't get involved. Maybe we should just leave." Lydia blurts out, eyes wide and gleaming, "It's your birthday, Scott, this isn't—you're not supposed to have trouble in your birthday. It's the whole reason why we brought you here." Her eyes seem to plead right along with her, “This isn’t home. It’s not your responsibility… you don’t have to do this.”  

He takes a step closer to her, eyes scanning through her, "Are you afraid?" Scott stammers, gently twisting out of her grasp so he can be the one taking her hand this time.

Lydia's brows knit together, eyes slitted, "Scott, no. I'm talking about you." Her voice is close to a whisper, fragile and small, "This is about you."

"She's right. You don't have to do it, Scott." Stiles reinforces, coming behind Lydia with eyes just as wide. Scott’s got a line of words stuck on his throat, jamming their own way out, and that’s all mostly because he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t remember a time where he had a say like this—when things were about him in such a way.

Nyota clears her throat in a barely—or maybe just _not at all_ —discrete manner, making her way into their conversation before Scott can gather his thoughts. "This is all really lovely, but I never said I needed help," She reasons, "And even if I did, none of you are witches, so you're pretty much useless here, if I’m being brutally honest." She shrugs, throwing them a small smile.

Scott blinks, a shred of dread gleaming in his eyes, "There's nothing we can do?" He squeaks, feeling the creeping distress take him over like boiling milk spilling out of a pan.

She shrugs, "You can stay and cheer me, I guess, but other than that, it's all in my hands." Nyota explains calmly. When they all strain, holding their breaths, she rolls her eyes, "Hey, don't worry. If everything goes wrong the ground will swallow us right up. We won't even notice we failed."

Stiles snickers bitterly at that, palms facing up when he gestures towards the woman, "Oh, she's funny, everybody! Funny witch in charge of our lives. Amazing! This is just great!"

“I don’t like him very much.” Nyota confides in a hum, “I might be able to do this on my own. The negativity isn’t doing a lot for me, though.”

Lydia throws the woman a skeptical look, “Are we clogging your energy?” She mocks, huffing.

“What?” Nyota snorts. “No, you’re just annoying me—listen,” She adds hurriedly, “I can tell you’re all used to setting things right, I swear I can. But sometimes it’s just… none of your business. Sometimes you can let it go.” Her gaze burns upon Scott this time, and her eyes are full of compassion. “You really can’t do anything about this. None of you. This is _my_ home. I get to take care of it.” She smiles sadly, “Just like you get to take care of yours.”

Scott’s lips twist before he opens his mouth again, “You don’t know our home.” But maybe she did. Beacon Hills has a way like that.

Nyota shakes her head, though, “No, I don’t. But you have scars. I can see all of them. You’ve taken more than just a glimpse of hurt. There’s more defence in your claws than there is attack, and your wolf...” Her voice dies as her words get closer to seizing, lips parting in awe. Nyota gives Scott a once over, one hand sliding up his arm, her dreadlocks falling back as her arm rises, “You’re a True Alpha.” She gasps—sobs, chuckles. Looking at her now, Scott remembers Deaton’s face, and the way he talked about hope when they finally knew what lied within him. “I—I never thought I’d get to see one myself. I can’t believe…” She whispers absently, “...I can’t believe I didn’t know right away.”

Scott shuffles uncomfortably, “That’s okay.” He nips at the corner of his lip, biting to ease himself. He’s never been recognized in such an emotional way. God, he hopes it never happens again.

“No, no, of course it’s not. Scott, you are hope.” She sputters the magic word right there, and Scott’s ears ring. He didn’t ever think that such a small amount of organized letters would feel like this much responsibility, holding him clawed open every time he hears it. “You’re proof that you’re not all killers. Actual, solid proof.

“And you’re so young.” It sounds like a lament, even when her eyes are glinting, the corners of her mouth quirked up, “There’s so much on your back, isn’t it? I’m sorry about that. Age hasn’t even taken a toll yet, and all of this…” She muses. “But nevermind that. Be your age. Don’t grow any older you really are.” Nyota advises, gripping to his biceps and smiling all out, “I hope you can do that. I hope they let you do that.

“Oh, this is a great day. This is a truly amazing day. I’m gonna _nail_ this spell.”

 

_Back_

 

“You’ve probably been getting the light stuff.” Scott’s saying the words before he can stop himself, wetting his dry lips with one quick slide of his tongue. His legs are secure beside Lydia's sluggish body leaning fully against him, and her scent is intoxicating. He's lightheaded here, but even like this he can tell, the wait his heart flutters when he catches some of Stiles as well. He can tell. And that's how he leans in, pressing a kiss to Lydia's forehead, cheek and then lips.

Scott supposes he does catch her by surprise, and she gasps briefly, a quick pull of air, before reciprocating. Her plush lips part, sliding with his, so their tongues meet, dragging slowly against one another.

He remembers this, back when they were just kids, and he was lost, and she was petty. Though some things never quite change.

He remembers another thing too.

("I have _time_ , Scott." Nyota said firmly, surrounded by the candles they had laid down in a circle inside a small room at the Casino. The flames went up, up, up, blue and orange, slightly oscillating from one side to another, swaying gracefully, as the witch bound the spell. Scott couldn't explain how, but he could see time swirling around her fists, like a yellow curled tail, shining with irreverence. She rolled her fists, the spots circling as her hands moved, "I'll give it to you."

There was a lot Scott wanted to say, to ask, but words seemed to just be tumbling out of his mouth lately, and the habit does him justice, "I don't need it." He blinked slowly, feeling his voice lower and his body weight, time taking its toll. Lydia and Stiles were beside him, holding on. Bracing themselves. They're good at it—at preparing. Scott doesn't like it that they need to be.

Nyota beamed, sharp and steady, "But don't you _want_ it?" She had inquired, eyes glinting with cleverness, "Go whenever you please."

And the questions spin around his head.

_When?_

_Where?_

_How?_

But some things just happen.)

Scott pulls away, heavy lidded, and the weight pressing on the inside of his thighs has never felt this good. He’d describe it as a sunday afternoon, the sun warm in just the right way, the way that makes your limbs loose and your breathing slow. It’s a calm, a peace he rarely gets to enjoy.

“Well… that was random.” Stiles comments suddenly, voice dazed and lazy. His cheeks are pink, eyes fixated on them.

Scott purses his lips, idly stroking Lydia’s cheek. She kisses the corner of his mouth, moves and covers his bottom lip with hers.

“I thought it was about time.” She shrugs, looking right into Scott’s eyes before turning finding Stiles’. “Didn’t you?” Lydia takes his hand within hers, running her fingertips through his palm until they meet its edges. Stiles inhales sharply and both her and Scott huff humorously, the sound dying down in synchrony when she curls her fist on his shirt and pulls him closer. “Answer me, Stiles.”

“Jesus, y-yes!” He stutters, hands fumbling as he licks his lips when they’re too close.

Scott looms over Lydia’s shoulder, and he swears the temperature just spiked up, muffling instead of burning taut. “I thought you two had kissed before.” He only half mocks, smirking.

Stiles doesn’t give him too sharp of a remark, though, “Very, very different situation, Scotty.” He swallows, look flicking from two sets of lips to another. “ _Very._ ”

"Mhm, that would be true." Lydia licks her lips tentatively before leaning closer until the space in between her and Stiles seizes. Scott can hear it when she inhales, still with a handful of Stiles' shirt, pulling him to her until she can't anymore. They're frantic, and at Lydia's pace it would be hard for them both not to be when she's taking the lead like that, surging forward whenever Stiles gives her a little more space. Stiles sighs in the middle of it, and Scott can feel his utter joy, arousal and the hint of loss that spikes once Lydia pulls away.

He doesn’t waste anytime bypassing her, one hand resting on her thigh as he cups Stiles’ jaw and goes for a taste himself. The last time they had done this they were fourteen years old, scared both of getting caught and that no one else would want to. He finds Stiles pliant at first now, like he doesn’t know any better, like he’s never had someone licking into his mouth like they’re starved for it, even though he just had—but when he turns into all consuming fire, much like Lydia, Scott’s not surprised at all. Instead he remembers the way fourteen-year-old Stiles pulled his head back by the hair when the angle wasn’t quite right.

Stiles is the one to pull away this time, and no wonder he's got his fist buried in Scott’s hair, holding him still, “This is the best trip, bro.” He chuckles breathlessly.

Lydia's kisses trailing up Scott’s shoulder and nape are what make him realize she’s gone around him. She sucks his skin in between her teeth until it burns and releases it with a pop, “I suggest less talking,” She whispers, her indicator finger hooked on the collar of Scott’s shirt, pulling the fabric out of her way.

“High stakes, Stiles.” Scott huffs out, smiling when Stiles kisses his jaw. He’s surrounded, and it’s the highest he’s ever been, glowing herbs or not, just by the way Lydia’s hands are traveling up his torso from under his shirt, and how Stiles’ are almost meeting hers now.

Stiles snorts, rucking up Scott’s shirt and pulling away, “Can’t make any promises.” He signals to Lydia somehow, so she’ll take a distance of her own when he pulls the shirt off of Scott, and she does it without a word, somehow working in sync.

The loss of his shirt isn't even acknowledged, what with Lydia's body covering his back, and Stiles crowding his space, almost sliding onto his lap. Scott grins, filled with warmth, "Talking can be nice." He shrugs, sighing brokenly when Stiles licks at the hollow of his neck. Lydia pulls away from him, huffing, and it doesn't take too long before Scott can feel her against his back again, her breasts flush with his skin, dragging up slowly as she supports herself on her knees.

"Innocent boy act down." Lydia counters as she leans forward and guides him by the jaw, stealing a quick kiss. It doesn't fail to make the small of his stomach burn tight, adding to the heavy volume growing uncomfortably inside of his boxers.

Stiles reaches Scott's clavicle, placing two wet kisses before looking up at him with hooded eyes and spit shiny lips, "You gonna tell us what you want, Scotty?" He cups Scott's cock as he says it, thumb running through the outline, now more visible than throughout their entire conversation, and Scott's breath hitches. "Always wanted to know how you like it." Stiles smirks like he knows about the shiver going down Scott's back.

"I've heard a thing or two," Lydia comments idly, kissing right under Scott's ear, "A good hand, all fours..." She continues, voice going husky as she deepens, meaner, "Or was it a game? Cards, perhaps?" Lydia laughs quietly, and Scott positively shudders, imagery unfolding beautifully in his mind.

“…H-heard?” Scott frowns, arching forward when Stiles’ fingertips dance across his happy trail, teasing but not quite where he wants them to be.

Lydia lets her body shift, occupying the space between him and the wall he was leaning against when he kissed her the first time, “Allison talks when she’s drunk…” Lydia hums, tugging on Stiles’ shirt. “She used to get drunk a lot.”

Scott blinks twice before he realizes he can actually see Lydia now, naked shoulders and hollow collarbones. He leans in, feeling himself entirely flushed, skin prickling when Stiles finally passes the waistbands of his shorts and boxers altogether. Scott loses his breath at once, but he’s got his mind too full to care, and kissing the inside of Lydia’s breast seems more important now. He nuzzles his nose against her, eyes closed in bliss, and can’t afford not to bite just a little when Stiles’ hand closes around his cock, making him catch that promised breath.

“Tight and fast, Scotty?” Stiles asks idly, pulling Scott out of his remaining clothes. He’s impatient, refusing to let go of the matter at hand, still working Scott’s shorts down however he can. Scott opens his legs, pulling his knees upwards in a poor attempt of helping, but then Stiles’ thumb is running through the tip of his cock, he really can’t bring himself to care anymore.

He’s got his arm noosed around Lydia’s waist, tongue itching to touch at any available piece of flesh, but he still manages to mouth a broken, breathy, “Slow.” And not another word before he’s licking a stripe around Lydia’s nipple and latching on to the nub. She throws her head back, whining under her breath and Scott drinks every sound she makes, careful not to press his teeth too hard against her skin. It’d be easy, though, and the urge is there right now just as it always is.

Scott deals. It’s what he does.

Lydia’s hand run through his hair methodically, and she doesn’t pull with the same confidence Stiles does, but it’s firm and decisive nonetheless, forcing him to look up. “You didn’t say what you wanted before, and I think I’ve got it, but there’s something I want first.” She smirks deviously before turning Stiles’ way. “I’m gonna need the bed.” Lydia warns, propping one hand on his shoulder and bouncing back on her feet so she can rise up.

She’s glorious like this, flushed cheeks, hair down, with her hands on her waist and chest set free. Scott wishes he could see this more often—everyday, as a matter of fact—take her, let himself be taken, and whatever else they want. He looks back at Stiles, who’s hand’s now painfully still, and the boy’s got an awed look on his face, mouth hanging open, hair spiked up in all the wrong ways and—fuck—Scott wants that too, so much it hurts to know they took so long to finally take some kind of step.

The sound of a skirt hitting the floor pulls Scott out of his haze, bringing him back into reality, Lydia’s legs standing straight and naked in front of him. He can’t tell if his mouth’s actually watering or not, but there are so many things he wants to do with it, like nibble the inside of her thighs. Lydia doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to them when she slides out of her panties, back to leaning on Stiles’ shoulders, careful not to fall. “Don't just watch me, you two!” She admonishes, throwing her underwear to the side, “C’mon."

Scott’s not ashamed to say Stiles and him scramble a little bit too much to get up, trading one too many kisses in the process.

The prospect of having Lydia lying naked on his bed, working a frantic finger around her clit, with impatience written all over her features, bottom lip stuck tight between her teeth, isn’t something that crossed Scott’s mind in the past… but the view. He couldn’t have imagined something like that on his best days.

“I see you two like to stand and stare.” She mocks, not a stutter. Scott doesn’t think he can speak so surely right now. He’s sliding onto the bed before she can say something else, and Stiles follows like he was made for it, a sneaky hand rushing to Scott’s ass.

Stiles makes a distressed noise, blinking hard, “Also have always wanted to do this,” He comments euphorically as his fingers dip into Scott’s flesh, “Fuck, Scott. So many wet dreams. So many wet dreams with you _right there_.”  Stiles lets out a shaky breath, hovering next to Lydia and easing himself down with one hand splayed on her side.

"I don't remember that." Scott answers it in a heartbeat, not eager to ask himself why did that just make him so fucking dizzy, his entire body feeling at the edge of something, aching to touch.

The first half of the answer he gets is a cheeky wink, tongue clacking and the whole ordeal, "I'm good at hiding shit sometimes." He reminds Scott, "Boners, anyways." And there's his wicked giggle again, turning into a huff as he kisses the seams of Lydia's breasts. Scott can tell—can feel—that he’s over the moon.

The energy around them all speak for it. Lydia’s impatient and eager, every missing piece of fierceness oozing out of her as she arches towards them, leaning into their touch, pulsing and wanting. Stiles is thrilled, the fire inside of him lit up, ready to take him apart.

Scott, though… Scott’s complete. And he hopes they feel it too, but can only know for himself how full and great he feels, like the first time he was wolf, on kilt after such a long, long, aching journey of fear and denial. Touching the earth was like breathing again. This is like breathing all new, like he’s been born for it. 

“I want Stiles inside of you.” Lydia grinds out, reaching only to bring him closer by the nape. “And then I want you inside of me.”

Stiles is quick on his feet after that, the groan pressed on the back of his throat coming out strangled and broken. “On your chest,” He asks, voice tight and strained. He and Lydia work in a synchrony Scott admires, and there’s a wave of utter gratification when he realises he’s part of it too, switching into the middle, while his partners shift one up and one down.

Lydia runs a hand through his hair, pressing soothing kisses on his cheek, “We’ll take care of you,” She promises, setting all of her hair on one side. Her tone is soft and sweet, the hand on his jaw caressing him with a careful sway of her thumb, but when she leans down to kiss him, it feels like he’s being devoured. She conquers him all over again, as if it is a reminder. Her hand traces up his hairline and dives in only to tug.

The hitch Scott’s breath isn’t due to her work entirely, but she has her credit, even though Stiles has his fingers hooked on the waistband of Scott’s shorts, sliding it off of his body. Scott’s not waiting for the playful tap on his left cheek, and he’d glare if Lydia didn’t seem so adamant about sucking on tongue, then biting on his lip, but there’s a jolt of excitement in it that shows through a whimper.

He’s feverish and wanton in his moans, and they ring in his ear because he can’t quite believe it. Not that it matters when Stiles is spreading him open, pushing his thighs away and his knees up, making Scott feel as exposed as he’s ever been before. His back is arched like he wants it, because god, he does, he does want it, so badly, so much—

The first swipe of Stiles’ tongue is obscene and it sends Scott trembling forward, turning his head away from Lydia’s to bury it inside of the pillow he’s been clutching to for dear life. He feels himself gasp, maybe choke a little on air, and finally blisses out when Lydia kisses his neck. It’s an awkward position for the both of them and he wants to fix it, but it’s hard to concentrate on turning back when Stiles is humming against his hole.

He isn’t thorough in any way Scott knows—he’s actually sloppy and eager, tongue open wide and licking, and Scott doesn’t know how he could’ve expected anything other than that. Stiles digs his thumbs around Scott’s hole and circles his rim, presses a quick kiss to it and puts his tongue to work again.

“Can you hear him?” Lydia whispers, wetting her lips. She doesn’t turn back, doesn’t seem to be waiting on an answer, but her hand does travel down Scott’s spine, following the curve of his ass. It’s relaxing in more ways he figured anything could be when Stiles was doing his best to work his way in and out of him.

“I—Stiles, please.” Scott stutters, eyes screwing shut. He needs more than this, something that gives him purchase, that he can push himself against. “Lydia?” He tries, a little bit lost in his own pleasure, when Stiles doesn’t answer him.

Lydia deepens her fingertips on his flesh, looking rather satisfied with herself, and lets go. Scott moans when her slap comes down, not too shy of strong and heavy, but maybe just the right amount to make this toes go taut for a brief moment.

Stiles doesn’t give him the time to breathe this out, doesn’t even let his flesh redden fast enough before he’s feeding his hole a finger. Scott scrambles forward again, a knee jerk reaction getting the best of him, but two hands keep him steady and he lets his head fall forward, only now realizing he’d even leaned on his elbows in the first place.

It feels like torture, Stiles’ finger stretching him open, Lydia’s kisses down his back, and everything that rises hot and devastating from the inside of his thighs and up his heaving chest. He’s a mess, he knows it, fairly certain that his eyes have pooled with tears that dropped down his pillow more than once by now, one of the consequences of the _too much, not enough_ sensation that’s tearing him apart.

He’s lost for more than just a second, and there’s shifting beside him, but he’s lost the strength in his arms and he doesn’t have the will to look, not with Stiles’ tongue fighting off space with his finger, lapping at Scott's hole with everything he's got. Nevertheless, he aches a little more when another digit presses in, resilient when his hole tightens around it, pulsing and boarding soreness at this point.

“Take it so good, Scotty,” Stiles croons, kissing every available spot of soft flesh within the closed vicinity without straying from a most important matter at hand. “Always thought you would.”

Scott’s world blurs right then, with Stiles’ fingers pumping in and out of him, Lydia’s hands steadying him, the praises ringing in his ears. He knows he’s too lost on his own haze when Lydia moves up again, the tip of her fingers glistening before she reaches for his face.

“On your side.” Stiles commands, slick fingers pulling on Scott's hips, encouraging him to move. He feels boneless, Lydia's careful touches not helping him in the least, but the edge on Stiles' voice sparks something awake and he does as he's told, complying without a word. Stiles surges up at the same time Lydia lies in front of Scott, fingers threading through his hair as she carefully rolls a condom down his length, drawing out a sigh out of him.

Lydia's volatile, and Scott's loves it, loves how easy and calming her hands are on him just a fraction of second before they're vicious and merciless, biting rather than soothing. She shows him, pulling hard again, and coaxes his leg under hers, bringing him closer. His cock's flush against her cunt, and he wants to change that, wants to bury himself inside and fuck her like he won't ever get to again. She's got this look, though, and it's telling him to wait—so he does.

There's a different sort of feel to Stiles' fingers sliding down his crack, opening him up again from a different angle. It feels more definitive now, if he can actually get himself to describe anything too well at this point, when his cock's flushed, heavy and painfully neglected, pressed against Lydia. He holds his breath with anticipation and lets himself be touched. There are lips on his neck and up his spine, on his waist and ribs when the tip of Stiles' cock nudges at his hole, sliding in as Stiles' fingers dive further into Scott's flesh, hard and desperate.

It burns, but it's the best kind of fire, the kind that makes something in the small of his belly coil and tense up expectantly. It almost feels like he won't be able to take it all, but Stiles just gives it to him, more and more, waiting on every deep breath Scott takes to feed him another inch.  

Lydia doesn't join their sync, just guides Scott in and slides down his length, turning a bit for leverage. She groans, letting her forehead rest on his clavicle, wet heat swallowing Scott whole. Her noise seem to loosen Stiles, because he breathes out something of a grunt, finally stuffing Scott full of his cock, whispering something rugged down his Alpha's ear.

Scott's eyes flutter close, and he's trying to adjust, keep the whine that's high on his throat back where it is, but it's too hard. It feels to good, too complete, too perfect. This is the closest he'll ever be to heaven, clawing at the gates, asking for more. He feels greedy, when he's given and taken by the two people he loves most, but he's urged to ask still, pleas dancing on his tongue, "Move—move, _please_." He pants, need getting the best of him.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll move." Stiles nods, nosing at the back of Scott's ear.

Lydia doesn't answer, just seals their lips and drinks him, an arm going under his for easier purchase. Her movements are dragged, but they're also a build up, he can tell just by the way her foot doesn't quiet, just trembles impatiently against the back of his and the front of Stiles' thighs. She's an excellent multitasker, even here, where their nerves are on end and everything feels heavy and desperate, begging for release. She kisses him like she's teaching, and then like she's feasting, both times like it's the one thing she's doing in the world.

Scott hums into her mouth when Stiles nails his prostate for the first time, or maybe he screams and Lydia swallows it all too well. He tenses up only to sag down, feeling his balls tighten way too quickly. Scott extends a hand back at Stiles' hip, urging him to slow down because it just can't be over this quickly, but there's no giving in, no stopping, no slowing down, just one sharp, sloppy thrust and a hand closing around Scott's neck.

"Take it, Scotty, c'mon," Stiles calls, rough whisper barely resonating above their moans.

There's a hand steadying his jaw, leaving him completely constricted, "Tell us how it feels," Lydia completes encouragingly, biting down on his lip and pulls, teeth scraping tight on his skin, "Tell us how much you like it."

He whines now, high and needy, tasting the noise as it leaves his mouth, eyes shut hard and forceful, because the heat of Lydia's cunt and the drag of Stiles' cock are ripping him apart, slipping him into two, "Love it," He mouths, voiceless and wrecked, "Love you—please." Scott sobs, trying to lower his head to hide his face in the crook of Lydia's neck.

Stiles only holds him tighter, and slams into him harder and faster, shaking all of them with his motion. Lydia moans, gasps, hands roaming only to steady on Scott's shoulders so she can brace herself for each of Stiles' thrusts.

Scott arches for the both of them, not knowing how to contain himself, let go. Not at least until Lydia puts her mouth where her hand was, teeth sinking down Scott's shoulder and she rubs herself off, fighting the tightness of their bodies together in light of her own release.

She's loud and fierce, pressing against him as muscles spasm around Scott's cock, tipping him over the edge right with her.

Scott can barely hear himself, lost in his own haze of heat and sweat, every last cell in his body screaming with the force of his orgasm, riding it out with a difficulty letting go when Stiles keeps going, even though Scott can feel him gone too, warmth filling him in already.

He pants, swallows the clogged air for dear life and finds the strength to noose his arms around Lydia, kissing her cheek. Stiles follows suit, hand gone from Scott's neck to spoon him properly.

"I could die a very happy man right now," Stiles is the first one to speak, to no one's surprise.

Scott snorts, glad they're not pulling out yet, "That would kinda anti climactic, bro."

"I think the words you're looking for are incredibly heartbreaking, Scott." He corrects, "Right, Lydia? Would you weep for me, baby?"

Lydia hums thoughtfully, kissing the corner of Scott's mouth, "Don't ever call me baby again." She cuts Stiles sharp and quick, "And did you just call him bro? When he's literally inside of you?" Lydia frowns, taking her distance to glare at Scott.

"I—" Scott frowns back at her, "Yeah, I mean—I… I did, yeah." He stutters, just a little bit intimidated.

She sighs, running a finger through his hairline, gives him a fond smile, "We have to much so work on."

 

 

When Scott leaves his home, he never expects to go back being the same. There's constant change around him, more so than he assumes normal, so change is expected—not always welcome, not always good, but expected.

He's too changed when he gets home this time, but even change is, in itself, different now. Imminent, there, real, but not demanding and all consuming like it usually is. This one's natural, feels like destiny, like fate. Scott's eternally grateful for having had the time.


	2. Art for "surprise, surprise, who's got the time"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art by [thewildestcucumber](http://thewildestcucumber.tumblr.com/)

Room number/Divider

 

Nyota

 

Trio-Banner

Trio-Poster

 

Trio in hotel room


End file.
